Don't Try And Run
by shooshingalways
Summary: The Vargas' find themselves escaping from their small town in Italy, to another one just as quiet, in Germany. To escape the Italian mafia of course.


Feliciano Vargas watched the world pass by with a frown, as the German countryside flew by his eyes faster than he could comprehend. The sun was radiant, its light creeping into every corner, bathing the whole world in a warm glow. The car cruised down a twisting road, grassy, forest green hills looming over endless expanses of tall trees and empty fields. Grandpa Roma, meanwhile, wasn't watching through the window, he was chatting away about how this was going to be a good thing for all three of them as he drove down the what seemed like freshly paved road. But Feliciano blocked it out, because he simply couldn't see this as a good thing at the moment.

Their old town in Italy had been full of great and fun people, people who Feliciano had thought he'd know and interact with right up until his old age. But he understood why they had to move... It was too dangerous there. The presence of the Italian mafia was growing, and with Grandpa Roma's connections to the boss, Luciano, it wasn't safe for them to remain in their pretty little village in the hills.

However, Feliciano was beginning to feel like this new place was going to be just as hilly and beautiful. But his heart still ached at the thought of leaving all his friends, Kiku Honda, he's androgynous little Japanese friend, Antonio Fernandez, the excitable Spanish boy with the heart of gold and an interest in his brother, Francis Bonnefoy, the very voyeuristic Frenchman and especially his old babysitters, Elizaveta and Roderich Edelstein.

Feliciano barely even noticed when Grandpa Roma had started to talk to him. "Feli? What's the matter? You're not being as talkitive as usual." He pointed out, glancing at the youngest Italian through the mirror of the car.

"Just reminiscing." He muttered, giving Roma a reassuring smile. Lovino, Feliciano's older brother by three years, snorted.

"Well you should stop. I say good riddance to that trashy town." Lovino waved his hand as if to illustrate his point.

The comment however made Feliciano smile. As cantankerous as Lovino Vargas acted, his brother always knew that he cared deep down, he just had walls that he had trouble letting down.

Grandpa Roma however, frowned. "Our town wasn't trashy, Lovi, but trust me. This town will be amazing."

"Oh yeah, because you're such a trustworthy guy." Lovino muttered under his breath, crossing his arms over his chest stubbornly.

"I am! Don't be so snarky, young man." The elder responded, with a very offended sounding gasp. Grandpa Roma himself was actually rather young, to many people's shock. He was in his late fifties, because both he and his daughter had had children rather early in their lives. His daughter, however, had passed away too soon. Feliciano and Lovino's mother had been a gentle soul, with a rather caring nature and as Feliciano remembered, an euphonious voice. It was one of the few physical things he remembered about his mother. Her soft eyes and her even softer voice, the Italian lullabies had helped Feliciano sleep when he was a baby numerous times.  
They had never met their father, but their mother had passed away when Feliciano was just five, and Lovino was eight. However, it had left a far deeper emotional scar on the older Italian brother, because of his age. Both were there when their mother was murdered, by the Italian mafia of course. As a warning to Grandpa Roma, who had previously been the acclaimed leader of the mafia. She was shot down in their driveway by a passing car.  
Feliciano himself remembered it vaguely. He remembered the warmth of his brother's hand as they stood by the lounge window, with Elizaveta as they watched their mother come up the driveway. But that was the last thing he remembered, aside from a scream and the smell of Elizaveta as he was pulled to her chest.  
Lovino however, had just stared as his mother crumpled to the ground, blood soaking the once beautiful paving stones of their driveway.

Feliciano had always felt bad for his brother, wondered why their baby sitter hadn't pulled Lovino down too. He longed for the days when Lovino had been as carefree as him, as innocent and nice. Now he was just aloof and harsh.

"Anyway, you two know why we had to leave. The mafia is everywhere in Italy, staying there would have put you two in danger. After all, someone leaked information about where we were. Besides, we were there for fifteen years. That's pretty good. They won't be able to reach us here in Germany." He sighed.

Lovino groaned loudly. "But we have been driving for hours. Jesus fucking Christ."

Grandpa Roma simply smiled at his grandson, and looked back to the road. He looked pained too, like leaving Italy was just as hard for him as it was for them. He had given up so much for him, so just then Feliciano decided that he was going to try and treat this as a new start. A new beginning.

So he smiled.

An hour later and they were unpacking into their new house. It was a small cottage style thing, a fair enough way from the village that was their new home, but only a five minute walk. The exterior was covered in vines, with an old looking façade and a beautiful garden. Feliciano had spent hours just staring at it in awe, trying to commit it to memory. As much as it hurt to admit, it was far prettier than their house of fifteen years, and almost lived up to his house of five that he could remember of it anyway. How Roma had managed to use the money to buy this was a surprise. Grandpa was slightly paranoid about his money, ever since he quit as the mafia's leader, he swore they were going to steal his fortune. So using large amount money was, to him, like a neon arrow pointing at him like a target.

Feliciano was following Lovino with a box of his own things, up the stairs and to their new bedroom. They could have had bedrooms to themselves, but both the brothers admitted that sleeping in the same room was far less stressful. Especially with Lovino's nightmare tendencies.  
Many people had found it strange that they shared a bedroom, they were twenty and twenty-three respectively, and it was a little odd. But with their past, they could care less about what other people thought.

"Hey! Careful, you damn idiot! You're going to drop your own things. Stop getting lost in your own empty brain." Lovino snapped, and Feliciano then focused back on the task at hand.

When they reached their room, Lovino threw his box unceremoniously onto his bed, where three other boxes were sitting. The older Italian paced to the side of the bed, and scrunched up his nose. "Smells like old people in here. And there is a creaky floorboard. That's going to be annoying as fuck." He muttered.

"Oh come on, fratello! Stop being so picky! Just enjoy our new surroundings. I think they are wonderful!" Feliciano said cheerfully, as he grabbed a handful of clothes from one of his boxes, throwing them carelessly into his side of the closet.

Lovino himself started unpacking as well, although slightly neater. "Oh please, not everyone can see everything through a curtain of rainbows like you." He muttered.

Felciano simply giggled, and he didn't reply as they begun unpacking in silence. Both of the brothers worked efficiently, if not a little messily as they tucked things into drawers and set things in shelfs.

Lovino at one point however, paused, what seemed like a photo in his hands. He looked like he was about to cry. Felciano was confused, just a few minutes prior, they had displayed all their pictures of their family on the bedside table and chest of drawers.

Feliciano peeked over at it, since it was just visible from his point of view. His quick glimpse was all he needed. It was a picture of Antonio, hands formed in the shape of a heart near his own, and a beautifully green field in the background, and the most stunning smile on the Spaniard's face. On the back of the photograph, was the words, _'Besame Mucho, Lovi, Te amo'_ , in Antonio's messy scrawl.

Antonio had been in love with Lovino, most of his friends knew this. As did his brother. He hadn't tried to hide it, even when being gay was always a sensitive topic wherever you went. But Antonio didn't care. He would scream his love from the rooftops. And he knew that Lovino was just as in love with the man as he was. But Lovino's walls prevented him from being with him. He was too paranoid that he'd be hurt, that he wasn't worth Antonio's love and cherishing.

He was so wrong, and Feliciano wished he could see that.

Lovino meanwhile hid the photo rather quickly, clutching it to his chest and wincing.

"It's okay, Lovino-"

"Go be useful. Get some groceries or something will you." He interrupted him, quickly hiding the photo in his jeans pocket, the usual scowl he wore still on his face.

The boy nodded, and he disappeared down the stairs, frowning. Groceries were good idea though, they needed to eat, he was sure they were all starving, and it would give him a chance to explore the town! He blocked Lovino from his mind, running into the lounge were Grandpa Roma was hanging up a clock. "Hey! Grandpa, I'm going into town to get some food!"

After a bit of scuffling for money, Feliciano was skipping down the path to the town, admiring the pretty flowers and trees that cast spotty shade across the road. It was the oncoming of winter here, and although it was slightly colder than an Italian autumn, it was just as beautiful. Feliciano couldn't wait until the mountains and hills were aflame with a riot of gold's and reds, the tress changing colour and leafs twirling from their perches and to the ground in a flurry of colour.  
He picked a blue flower, and smiled, holding it in between his thumb and index finger, twirling it as he wandered into the busier part of town. He glanced up at the sky, admiring the fact that there was only a few white wisps of clouds, and that the day was amazing clear.

And then he crashed into a wall.

He fell to the ground, blurting out a few random curses and phrases in Italian, rubbing his head. When he looked up however, his words died in his throat. For a few seconds at least. Then the ranting came back full force, only this time pleading for mercy.

The so called 'wall', was actually a man, that was more buff then anyone Feliciano had ever seen in real life, and he scared the living heck out of him.

"Oh, little Italian, calm down, I'm not going to hurt you." The German seemed rather embarrassed, like this interaction was going to forever affect the way he was viewed by others. He glanced around at the few curious and disapproving onlookers, some of which who thought he had pushed him.  
Even if Feliciano's grandfather had been in the mafia, he was nowhere near brave enough, obviously.

Feliciano cowered when he was gently helped up, and he realized he was almost crushing the small flower in his palm. When he relaxed, he looked up to the German's face, which was now much closer, and he was a little stunned. The man was blushing, and his eyes were the exact colour of the beautiful flower he had just previously picked up. "You're not going to hurt me?" He asked slowly.

"No."

"Oh thank god! I thought you were going to hit me in the face. And then I'd end up in hospital because you look really strong and wait how far away is the nearest hospital it seems-"

The German stood there awkwardly, while the Italian continued to rant and use an absurd amount of random Italian that he couldn't understand.

"Hey, hey! Relax." He put a hand on his shoulder, and Feliciano jumped. "I'm Ludwig Beilschimidt. Not here to hurt you, calm down." He nodded sternly, and Feliciano knew that what the man was saying was the truth.

Feliciano paused again, and smiled cheerfully, passing Ludwig the flower. "Well thank you, Ludwig! I'm Feliciano Vargas, it's nice to meet you. Have this flower as a thank you for not crushing me! It matches your eyes!" He laughed, then declaring he had groceries to get, and running off on the stunned man.

"What a boy." Ludwig muttered as he watched the intriguing boy named Feliciano run off and through the few people in the street.

That wasn't the last time Feliciano Vargas saw Ludwig Beilschmidt. The two became quite good friends over the course of a few weeks, after meeting each other at the same crossroads every morning. Sometimes, they would go over to a big oak tree in one of the flowered meadows, far away from the town and his house. They went through the meadow so much that there was now a permanent trail going from the gate to the tree. Wild flowers dotted the tall grass, and sometimes Feliciano just skipped around and picked him, bunching them up in his arms to take back to the house. And when Ludwig had something else to do, Feliciano would just sit in the field, with his sketching pad and draw until the light drained from the sky.  
But under the oak with Ludwig, they would just play football, or lounge around and talk. About many things, family, problems, Feliciano even told him about their issues with the mafia. And Ludwig told him that he had been training to be the air force since he could remember.

Feliciano took one hand and leant against the ancient oak, his fingertips gripping into the crevices that ran through the bark. Under his boots the golden leaves were as noisy as his own cheerful laugh.

"So you want to be a part of the air force huh?" He asked curiously, the brown hair of his bangs falling over his eyes.

Ludwig smiled as he stared at one of the golden leaves that he was twisting in his fingertips. "Yeah, I really do."

"What made you want to do that?"

Ludwig took a few moments to start answering, his eyes cast up at the trees canopy, and Feliciano fondly watched the way the gently swaying trees cast ever-moving shadows ober the natrually sharp features of his face. "There's a certain pleasure in fighting for your country. A kind of feeling that I can barely even explain. It feels like I'm making a difference, I won't just be Ludwig Beilschimdt anymore, I'll be a _someone_.. You know?"

Feliciano couldn't say he did.

One of these lazy lounging days and Feliciano found out that Ludwig had a brother named Gilbert. Who in turn had made really good friends with both Antonio and Francis when they had been in Italy for a holiday one time. Feliciano was stunned, and he couldn't wait to tell Lovino.  
When it was time to leave for the day, he stood up, brushing off his jeans and beaming at the always stern looking German boy. He leaned over and kissed his cheek, giggling at the flush that covered Ludwig's features, and he ran off, through the slightly sharp, high grass of the field, singing a loud Italian song as he did.

When he returned home, he didn't bother knocking on the door. He just opened it, surprised to find that he could open it without the key. That was unusual, for sure.  
He wandered through the kitchen, and placed down his bag of groceries he had gotten before going to talk to Ludwig. It smelt like pasta, his favourite food, and sure enough, there was tomato sauce simmering on the stove. Feliciano cocked his head in confusion that it was here alone, not accompanied by a singing Roma, but he shrugged, walking to the stairs.

"Grandpa Roma! Lovino?" He skipped up the stairs cheerfully, pausing when he reached his room. His hand lingered on the chilled metal of the golden doorknob, his mouth twisted into a frown. Something seemed wrong, and there was an almost metallic taste in the air, something that was familiar, but he couldn't put his finger on it. So he twisted the door handle, and pushed the wooden door open.

He stopped in his tracks however, when his eyes landed on one figure.

Lovino was lying on the ground on his back, eyes glazed and facing the ceiling. Red was soaking through the whiteness of the very shirt Feliciano had seen the boy put on just this morning, soaking through the fabric. There were dried tears on his cheeks, and something in his limp fingers.

His photograph crumpled and bloodstained. Antonio still smiling, the writing smudged by red.

There was the boy he'd grown up with. The boy he had been through so much with, that he had held on nights where he woke up in tears. The boy that had protected him, that had put Feliciano's safety and wellbeing in front of his own so many times. But he had failed to return the favor.

Feliciano screamed.

He noticed through very blurred vision, that there was another large figure nearby Lovino that was still whimpering and muttering, curled up in a ball on the floor.

Grandpa Roma.

"Don't try to run from the Italian mafia, Vargas."

It was the last thing he heard, besides his own heartbeat in his ears, and his own screaming piercing the silent, fading day.

He couldn't even hear the gunshot, he couldn't hear Grandpa Roma's final ounce of energy going into a yell of mercy for his grandson, he could hear nothing but himself as he fell to his knees, and then to his side.

He felt the coldness of the timber floor seeped into his very core, and the warmth from the house had been drained entirely. The very air felt thin, he became aware of every stitch of clothing on his body, felt the red liquid that had only a few seconds beforehand been rushing through his veins spill out onto his blue shirt, the very thing that kept him alive escaping effortlessly.

He thought of Lovino. He imagined his brother laughing, being finally happy with the one he so obviously loved. He thought about Grandpa Roma, and how he was going to live the rest of his life in his peaceful village, away from his past troubles and pain, how he was finally going feel the weight of all his responsibilities towards his daughter and keeping her children safe get lifted off his shoulders.

And finally, he thought of Ludwig. The young German boy with a dream. The boy who was going to be a _someone_ , the boy that took Feliciano in so quickly, had been the best friend he had ever had, even in the matter of a few weeks. The friend that made his heart race faster, that he had constantly wanted to be near.

All he hoped for now was one more day, one more blue sky, and one more happy moment. To see Lovino's rare smile, to hear Grandpa Roma's boisterous laugh, to see Ludwig's beautiful eyes again. But now he was going to die.

He knew his head wasn't supposed to feel this light; he knew he should feel more pain, that he shouldn't feel so numb and empty. He was going to die.

He was going to join his mother. His brother. His grandfather. Everyone he ever cared about who was gone.

So maybe it wouldn't be so bad.

He smiled as the light and vision he had disappeared. And he no longer felt anything.


End file.
